“You see, sir, what one gains by scrupulously keeping one’s promises. One day when the lady was in the same quandary as yourself, I mean the police were hunting after her, I offered her an asylum in my residence. The lady hesitated, fearing that I was no Joseph—unless so christened. I gave her my word to respect her, and this is true, eh?”
“I swear it, on my little Toussaint,” said Oliva-Nicole.
“So you believe that I will pay the sum mentioned on the day when the King shall have been abducted or Marquis Favras arrested, to say nothing of my serving the running knot strangling him a while ago. For this affair, at all events, there shall be no halter or gibbet, for I cannot bind myself any farther. You understand: The man who is born to be—ahem!”
“My lord, it is as if the courts had awarded us the money,” said the woman.
“Well, my beauty,” said Cagliostro, putting the ten gold pieces on the table in a row, “just imbue the captain with this belief of yours.”
He waved his hand for the gambler to confer with his partner. Their parley lasted only five minutes, but it was most lively. Meanwhile Cagliostro looked at the cards and the one by which tally was kept.
“I know the run,” he observed, “it is that invented by John Law who floated the Mississippi Bubble. I lost a million on it.”
This remark seemed to give fresh activity to the dialogue of Beausire and his light-o-love. At last Beausire was decided; he came forward to offer his hand to Cagliostro like a horse-dealer about to strike a bargain. But the other frowned.
“Captain, between gentlemen the parole suffices. Give me yours.”
“On the faith of Beausire, it shall be done.”